Come What May
by Titanic Mist
Summary: Beth has a secret wish. Ahren Hummel might be able to fulfill it. They made it through the illness. They made it through the war. But is love enough to turn the Tide when it comes?
1. Christmas Wishes

**Chapter One**

**Christmas Wishes**

"Jo?" I peek into to the attic where my sister scribbles, penning worlds that only exist her mind. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Not yet, Beth." Jo whispers. "I'm right at the climax."

I slide onto the floor near the chests that line Jo's writing room and trace the names carved into them.

"Oh."

I don't wish to disturb her while she is writing - especially during the climax -nor do I wish to go back downstairs. Meg needs sleep to be cheerful with the children tomorrow, and Amy will be cranky in the morning if she stays up too late. I won't even think of waking poor Marmee.

It's silly, I know, because I am fifteen years old, but I fear the dark. At night, when everything is quiet, I begin to think about Father and wonder if he is cold or hungry. Then I worry all the others out there. Every night, men are wounded. Father writes about them in his letters. Just thinking of a man, lying alone with no one to comfort him and nothing to ease his pain, makes me cry. I feel so spoiled wrapped in my blankets with all my sisters and mother nearby.

Jo continues to scribble, and I open her chest, smiling as I ruffle through the things. There is our newspaper from our last literary meeting. Jo wants me to compose another article for our next paper, but I can't think of anything to write.

Jo throws down her pencil, then growls. "I don't believe this! I'm at the most important part of the story, and I have no idea what to write."

"You'll come up with something," I answer, closing the lid. "You always do, Jo."

She removes her writer's cap with a sigh. "Well, not tonight. Marmee won't want us to stay up late on Christmas Eve."

I shake my head. "And we must be awake to act in our play tomorrow! I hope Marmee likes it!"

"Of course, she'll like it!" Jo settles the fact, shoving her chair beneath her desk. "I wrote it."

I smile, but I can't help wondering. We have never done a play quite this exciting. It has three murders and a kidnapped princess, along with an evil man who triumphs and I worry if Marmee will entirely approve.

I follow Jo downstairs to our room, and rescue Susan from under the dark covers as I climb into bed next to Jo.

"It's Christmas Eve, Beth," she whispers. "What are your wishes?"

She asks the question every year. We are allowed five wishes that will come true over the next five years.

I snuggle deep into the blankets. "I wish that the war will end, and the men will come home safely.

"Don't we all?" Jo replies.

I bite my lip, trying again. "I wish that Marmee didn't need to work so hard."

"That's Marmee's wish," Jo argues. "You have to wish for something for Bethy and only Bethy."

"Well…" I let my mind wander over everything that I want, but I can't think of very much that doesn't involve someone else. "I would like some new music."

"That's a good one. And is your next wish a better piano?"

I giggled. Our piano sounds terrible. It's out of tune, and the D and G key don't work anymore, so I must sing along to make the melody whole. But I still love my piano, though it is covered with scratches and gives out funny little songs. I feel like that piano sometimes, hiding in the corner, and wanting to come out, but just not quite brave enough to open up and sing.

"What else?" Jo asks.

I shake my head. "If you take other people out of it, there isn't much else I want, Jo." I shift onto my side to look at her. "What about you?"

"Oh, there's ever so many. I want to be a soldier, but I said that one last year, and it'll never happen, so I'll skip it. I want to be a world-famous writer." She pulls her index finger back, numbering off her requests. "I want to go to New York, and become an actress. I want to learn to control my temper - though that one is more impossible than becoming a soldier. I want to make a great discovery, and I want to conquer the world."

I laugh again. "You will conquer the world, Jo. You can do anything."

"I know one thing I'm going to do," Jo says. "I'm going to get a job and save up my money until we are like we were before Father lost his fortune. I'll get you the best piano ever made, and myself a whole library of books, and Meg all the dresses she could ask for, and Amy…" She hesitates. "Well, I don't suppose Amy needs much else. She's already getting too vain. Oh, but I'd make us rich, Beth, really rich."

I smile at my older sister. So brave. So funny. So beautiful. "We are rich, Jo."

She nods. "Yes. I suppose you're right. Good night, Beth. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Just like last Christmas, she rolls over and falls asleep. And like last Christmas, I recompose my list with those things that I cannot say - even to my Jo.

I wish I could be brave like Jo.

I wish I could be graceful like Meg.

And I wish - someday far away - that I could - could…

I blush, and press my face to my pillow. I know what my heart longs for, but I can never admit it - even to myself.


	2. Ahren

Chapter Two Ahren

"Beth!" Jo's excited whisper pulls me from my dream about old Mr. Laurence next door shaking his cane and shouting at me. "Look under your pillow!"

My fingers touch something soft and cool and I pull out a burgundy copy of _Pilgrim's Progress_. "Oh Jo! However did Marmee hide it?"

Jo laughs. "She doesn't! I did! Look, she got me one too!" She held up her own copy of the story.

"Jo! Beth!" Amy rush in, with blonde curls still dishevel from her sleep, holding a book much the same. She stops in shock and sniff the air, her eyes growing wider. "Is that _sausage_?"

We both sit up and Jo leaps to her feet, then grabs her clothing, "I think it is! Hurry Beth! Sausage! I don't hardly remember what that tastes like!"

"'Don't hardly' is unproper grammar." Amy sniffs, but Jo ignores her.

"_Improper_, Amy." Meg corrects on her way inside the room. She is already dressed and has her hair pinned up.

Jo barks out a laugh as she haphazardly ties my sash and we hurry downstairs toward breakfast.

"There's a regular little feast!" Jo says.

It is true. There are buck cakes and bread and muffins with cream, and in the middle of the table is a small plate with four oranges in it.

"Oranges!" Amy points. "Oh, look Beth! One for each of us!"

I take an orange and breathe deeply, longing for the trees to bloom outside.

"Where's Marmee?" Meg asks.

Hannah, waves her hand toward us, setting the sausages onto the table. "She says to go ahead and eat. She heard about a family near the edge of town – Hummel's their name. Ten children and the father away. Mother's ill and your Ma went straight off to help."

"Ten children is a lot to care for," I say, as Amy settlers herself in the chair beside mine. Ten children. How fun it would be. I try to imagine their sweet little faces gathered around our table. Oh, how I love children.

"No food, or fire either." Hannah's voice interrupts my daydreaming. My smile fades as the image turns bad and the children turns dirty and haggard, staring up at me with longing, hungry eyes.

I glance at the other girls. Jo is shaking her head as she butters a piece of bread and Amy is biting into a muffin, but neither seems overly distraught.

"They're starving?"

My one question seems to make the entire table stop.

"Oh, Beth." Meg starts as my eyes fill with tears because I can't shake off the image of the little children. I feel like I will choke if I take even a bite.

"You can't be upset, Beth." Amy says, stuffing the muffin quickly into her mouth. "People starve every day. You'll starve, too, if you never eat. Besides, Marmee's with them."

"And we should be too." Jo replaces the buttered bread onto the tray.

Amy's shoulders fall, as Meg nods and covers the muffins.

"Do we have to take it all? May we leave the orange? They won't miss one little thing."

No one says anything, and she hides the orange on her chair beneath the table. Poor thing. It's been months since we had fresh fruit or sausage, and now we're giving it all away before she can enjoy it.

I pick up the hot cider drink and hug it close as we step out into the cold air, glad for the warmth, and for something to press against my already fluttering heart.

Mr. Laurence clambers into his carriage, and I step behind Jo as it rolls past. She calls out a greeting but Mr. Laurence glares at us – or perhaps I only imagine that he does.

"Look!" Jo lowers her voice dramatically. "The Captive is with him."

"The Captive" is our name for the new boy. We don't know his real name, because he's only been there for a few days. Mr. McGregor, the postman, told Hannah that he is Mr. Laurence's only grandson. He is handsome, as Meg point out, with a very nice smile – I know because he saw me taking Susan for a stroll in the garden once and smiled at me, before I ran inside.

"Lovely day for a picnic!" Jo calls out, as the boy looks in bewilderment at four girls carrying food through the snow.

The boy laughs, and Mr. Laurence told him to shut the carriage window and not let any draft in.

The Hummel's house is on the far edge of town, and when we get there, the snow has seeped through my boots. I doubt the cider will still be warm.

Jo's breath makes a puff of cloud as she turns to us. "I think it's that one."

She point to a little shack set back in the trees, and I slow as we draw closer. There is only the slightest bit of smoke coming from the chimney, and most of the windows are broken. I stop, feeling my heart beating so hard that I think I will choke.

"Come along, Beth." Jo steps beside me. "You don't want to miss the smiles, when they see us, do you?"

I shake my head, and force my feet to move, thinking only of children and laughter and smiles.

But there are no smiling faces to greet us at the door - only a pile of children, huddle in one bed underneath a threadbare blanket, with white faces, blue lips and large, frighten eyes. The wind blows right through the window and a pile of snow lays on the floor near the wall where it has fallen from the windowsill. The fire is little more than a pile of glowing ashes, and the house is bare and filthy.

"Girls!" Marmee's voice had never sounded as sweet as it did then. "I'm so glad you came!" She sat over with the mother and a tiny baby on the only other bed in the room.

Jo lumbers toward the fireplace and dumps the wood she carries. One girl, about thirteen, pulls back the covers and slips over to help her. She doesn't have any shoes – only a pair of woolen socks that I recognize as ones I knit for father at the camp. Marmee must have brought them today.

Meg takes charge of the children, lining them up and handing out muffins. Once the children see the food, it seems they comes alive, like hungry baby birds, and reach out, calling out words in English and German. Amy takes the only little spot left on the bed and passes out the warm sausage, and I take the cider over to Jo. "We didn't bring any cups."

"We have some." The girl answers, turning and hurrying to the cabinet. She opens it, and I spy five wooden plates, three bowls and two cups. I fill them up and give Jo the cider to reheat.

Mother wraps her shawl tighter around the woman's shoulders and walks to us. "I'm so glad that you thought of firewood, Jo. I didn't think to bring much, and we already used most of it. I sent Ahren out to get some a few hours ago, but he has not returned yet." She slips the baby into my arms. She is cold and dirty but her eyes were bright as she looks up at me. I sink near the fireplace, enamor and horrified at the same time.

"Her name is Gretchen," the girl says. "And I'm Lotchen."

"It's good to meet you, Lotchen!" Jo booms enthusiastically. I smile at her, but I can't tear my eyes from the baby for long. Her hands are so tiny and so cold. I pull off my shawl and wrap it around the infant. Jo hunts for some rags to stuff the windows, and finally ends up using the tray we carried the food on, to block the hole in the window. It looks so funny up there, but she teases Lotchen that she can use it for a mirror.

My stomach growls, but I hardly notice as the baby begins to whimper. I push to my feet and walk around, gently bouncing the baby and quietly singing. I take her to the window near the door, away from the noise of the other children. Just as I notice the puddle of melted snow on the floor, the door swings open with the wind and knocks into my head. I stumble back and slip in the icy water, hitting my shoulder and head against the wall. I cling to the baby and, for a moment, I can't see.

Water seeps into my skirt, but I am so frighten that Gretchen is hurt, that I hardly notice.

"Ahren!" Lotchen screams, hurrying over and taking the squalling baby from me. "Be careful! Look what you did!"

That is the first time that I notice the boy. His hair is light brown and coated with ice and snow. His lashes are frozen and his face is red, but I can't tell if it is from the cold or embarrassment.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He seems mortified and embarrassed and confused all at the same time. His arms were full of wet branches, and a few hunks of wood, and he hobbles to the fireplace to dump them.

I push myself to my feet, embarrassed that I had fallen, but mostly that I embarrass him and caused a problem.

"Are you all right?" Meg asks gently.

Mrs. Hummel sends a torrent of angry German words toward poor Ahren.

"It's all right," Marmee says. "It is the wind that knocks it back so far. No one is hurt."

Ahren sinks down near the fire in a small huddle, and I readjust my best skirt to hide its new tear.

"You'll be warmer if you take off that coat. You don't want to be mistaken for a snowman!" Jo slaps Ahren on the shoulder in a boyish fashion, and he stares at her for a moment, before he mutely unwraps his scarf and fumbles with the buttons to his coat. Chunks of snow fall and his fingers are stiff and blue. I want to help him, but I think that will just embarrass.

Jo pulls off his coat and walks toward me to hang them up by the door with a wink. Ahren wears only one shirt and a pair of breeches, held up by two leather straps that serve for suspenders. The backside of his pants is so threadbare, that I can see the white of his shirt coming through. I blush and grab the orange from the table, and a cup of the cider to carry to him.

He hardly looks at me and, for a moment, I just stand there, holding the cup toward him as a peace offering. Finally, he reaches up and takes the cup, breathing a thank you. I step away, giving him room to drink and recuperate.

Meg is using the warmed water to clean the children's sticky little faces, now that their bellies are full, and probably aching from overeating. I glance back at Ahren, who stares into the fire and hadn't move since I left. I bite my lip, wondering if I hadn't embarrass him so much, if he will be feeling better and eating by now.

I pick up Gretchen again, and use the warm water to gently wipe her face, feeling a smile returning to my own. I sing softly, watching Ahren out of the corner of my eye as he flexes his fingers back and forth.

"Father's working in town," Mary says. "He's coming back in a few days."

Ahren glances up for the first time, and he takes a sip of the cider.

"He's going to bring me a doll," the girl continues.

"Who told you that?" Ahren frowns.

"Lotchen did."

"I say he _might_," Lotchen adds quickly. "We were just making believe, Mary. Remember?"

Ahren's face darkens for a moment, and he stares into his cup, as though he will find his answer inside of it. He can't be much older than me, though he is so thin, that it looks like a breeze might blow him away.

For the next hour that we were there, I sing to the baby while the others clean up children and dishes. I still haven't given the orange to Ahren, and for some reason, I very much want to. Before it is time to go, I kiss the baby and return her to Mrs. Hummel. The door jams on the hinges, and Ahren throws his weight into it, finally knocking it free. Mother calls out that we will be back next week, Mrs. Hummel says good bye and dabs at her cheeks and the children call after us. I slip the orange into Ahren's hand. I want to say something, but nothing comes, and I blush furiously as he looks at the orange and then at me, as though he can't understand why I would give him such a thing. I duck my head and hurry to Jo's side. No one saw it, and I am glad, for I suddenly feel very foolish.


	3. Of Knights and Fair Maidens

**Chapter Three **

**Of Knights and Fair Maidens**

Several glass eyes stare back at me as I survey the dolls lined up on my bed. Some of them look curious, as if they know that this is no ordinary visit. They're a strange collaboration: Meg's carefully combed, Jo's tattered and tangled despite my best efforts to nurse them back to health. I have even rescued some of Amy's, when she declared that she was too old for such things and threw them into the ragbag.

There are seven girls in the Hummel family - plus the baby, but she is too young for a doll just yet. Besides, I only have eight, and I don't know if I can manage to part with all of them. I pick out Meg's dolls first, since they are in the best condition.

"Bree," I whisper, carefully setting aside the doll in the laciest dress. "Sarah." Sarah was a gift from Father. I hold her for a moment and set her onto the bed. Mary is next - Amy's china doll from Aunt March, back in the days when she still believed Father could make something of himself. Soon they are all laid out, except for Susan who stays on my bed. She is a little rag doll who belonged to Marmee when she was a girl, and she is special to me. I bite my lip and look between her and Sarah. One of them will have to go. I switched Sarah with Susan, but the rag doll looks so sad among the others, that I exchange them again.

"Beth!" Jo called up the stairs, "Hurry down! It's almost time."

I smile. Jo is so excited about her play. "I'll be back." I whisper to the dolls.

There is a great deal of bustle getting ready for the play. Costumes are donned, props are gathered, placed, broken, re-gathered and replaced. The curtain is hung in the attic, where the play is to take place. It is not going to be very big - only Marmee and Hannah.

Perhaps that is why I am so surprised when I hear a boy's voice. I peek from behind the curtain, and I'm quite sure my heart misses a beat. Marmee is talking to the Laurence boy. He sits down on the folded up bed next to Marmee, looking all arms and legs, and I scurry in the other room.

"The Laurence boy is here!" I whisper fiercely to Jo.

"What!" Meg's eyes widen.

Jo's eyes sparkle and she fondly calls Marmee a "brick" for inviting him. Amy and Meg nearly mutiny, saying it is "childish" and "improper," and I can't say anything at all, because my stomach is churning.

In the end, it is hastily decided by Jo and forced onto the rest of us that "the show must go on.

And it does. Amy is the fair princess and Meg plays her strict father. Jo flies about, changing hats to play both the villain and the hero. I portray Amy's servant, and then a kind monk with one line, and finally the angel that comes to take the poor princess away after the villain kills her and her hero laments her loss. Jo has written me a splendid monologue about virtue and grace, and I know it by heart. But I catch sight of the Laurence boy who's grinning like he's enjoying a great joke, and suddenly I can't remember any of it, except for the last line. "Come away with me to the heavens where bliss awaits." I choke it out and nearly drag Amy toward the door. The Laurence boy laughed outright, and Marmee tries not to, and Amy becomes upset at being treated like a ragdoll and stands up, catching her costume on the castle tower. It crashes down on top of us.

Amy lands on my chest and knocks my breath out, her hair falling into my mouth, but still managed to time it to where her face looks out the back of the castle window up at the ceiling. Jo and the Laurence boy lift it off of us, and if that isn't enough excitement, the trundle bed chooses that moment to snap shut, swallowing Hannah alive. Jo and Marmee fly to her rescue, and I feel a strong hand grab mine and pull me to my feet.

"That's quite a heaven, little angel," the black-haired boy teases.

"That," cries Jo, wiping away tears of laughter, "is the absolute worse play I have ever put on." Her words choked off into laughter and soon the rest of them are laughing as well.

"And that," says the Laurence boy, "is the best play that I have ever seen."

Another time I might be laughing too, but the boy still has my hand, and my face is heating.

Jo rescued me. "Well, Mr. Laurence."

"Laurie," the boy corrects.

An amused smile lights up Jo's face, and I wish that I could be as comfortable with people as she is. "Laurie Laurence? That is quite a name."

Laurie only grins more, "Well, it's actually Theodore, but I hate it. The boys at school called me "Dora," so I made them call me Laurie instead."

"I wish I could make Aunt March call me Jo instead of Josephine. How did you do it?"

"I thrashed them." Laurie says so calmly that Meg's eyes widen in surprise.

Jo laughs outright, and Hannah steps into the room, "If the young ladies will be pleased to come down, we have a treat for them downstairs," She turns away, mumbling under her breath, "Or several."

"What is it?" Amy jumps over the fallen tower and rushes down the stairs, forgetting that she is "grown up."

"Laurie?" Jo's eyes sparkle. "You wouldn't hit a girl, will you?"

"Of course not!"

"Good!" Jo takes his arm, "Then I'm going to call you Teddy."

"Oh Jo! Beth!" Amy's ecstatic voice distracts me from Laurie's surprised face, "Come see! There's ice cream and cake and bonbons and . . . and. . . ." She fades off, apparently overwhelmed by happiness of whatever else there is.

Jo sends a surprised look toward Laurie, who tries to look innocent, and the two rush down the stairs together. I stand alone in the attic, surrounded by the remains of Jo's fairytale, wondering what is happening, but afraid to go. I have met twelve new people today, and it is far too much to handle.

I sit on the bed, wondering if it will close on me too, and wait for my hands to stop trembling. Happy chatter and cries of delight floats up, and I smile, feeling special to have this family and to live in this house and for everything else. I have so much. I know better now than ever, after visiting the Hummels, and I quietly vow never to complain again.

"Where's Beth?" I heard Jo's voice as she finally realizes I am not down there.

I stand up and take a breath. It is time to grow up. It is time to be brave. After all, it is only one boy. That thought makes my heart stop, but I try to ignore it as I pick up my skirt and step onto the top step. "I'm here!"

On a normal night, Jo might be depressed at the failure of her play, but she is more interested in Laurie - or Teddy, as she laughingly calls him all night. Amy's attention is focused on the ice cream at the beginning, but soon she grows bold and full enough, to sit in the chair near the sofa where Laurie tells Jo about Italy and what it is like to live there. Meg disappears upstairs to take out her hair ribbons and erase all traces of the play, while Jo seems to forget that she has drawn a mustache above her lips, and Laurie remains too polite to mention it.

I stay busy with Hannah until Laurie speaks about the opera in Italy. I want so badly to hear what it is like that I crawl into my corner by the fire and keep myself busy knitting socks for Father so that I won't have to look at him.

I feel like Christian from _Pilgrim's Progress_ after he struggles so hard and arrives at the house Beautiful.

The next day, however, I decide that it must have really been Vanity Fair, for Jo is too busy plotting ways to see Laurie again to clean up the mess from her play, Meg has decided she is becoming too old to act anymore, and Amy has eaten so many sweets the night before that she moans over a horrible stomach ache and snaps at everyone.

Jo has often said that she envies my temper, and that I have the patience of a saint, but I don't really. When Meg announces her retirement to Jo, and Jo panics asking who will act the lady's part, Amy suggests that Laurie could do the men and Jo could do the lady's part. I try to calm them before it turns into an argument, but Amy snaps at me, and Jo turns onto her. After Marmee rather forcefully calms the storm, I take my basket of dolls and slip out the door. No one think anything of it, since I often take the dolls for a walk.

My boots crunch through the snow, and I count steps to avoid thinking about where I am going. My feet soon grew cold and wet, and I look back over my dolls, all staring up curiously at me. I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I glance back at the house, before rounding the corner. Jo is throwing snowballs at Laurie's window. I am glad that she had a new friend, although thinking about him makes a strange, burning feeling in my chest.

The Hummel's miserable house comes into view before I am ready for it to, and I stop. The silver platter is still over the window, and I can hear the baby crying. I had intended to leave the dolls on the steps and run away before they saw me but the boy, Ahren, is out with Mary, who wanted the doll. They are building a snowman. Mary wears Marmee's shawl over her shoulders, but Ahren has nothing, except the same clothing he had yesterday.

Mary runs toward the edge of the woods. A change comes over Ahren's face where pain replaces his smile. He blows on stiff fists, but the moment Mary turns back toward him, the look is gone, and he seems as jolly as ever.

The girl calls out something in German, and the only word I understand is "Ahren." Waving a stick, Mary runs back to the snowman to jab it into the body of the snowball.

"Ahren!" Lotchen screams from the door. "Where's Mary?"

"She's here with me," Ahren calls back.

"Mother wants her to come in. She shouldn't be out in the cold."

"I want to be outside!" Mary protests.

"I don't care," Lotchen yells back. "You must come back in! You'll become ill!"

"Ahren!" Mary turns back to him and reverts back to German, pleading with him. He shakes his head, and she blows a breath, dragging her feet on the way back onto the porch.

Mrs. Hummel appears in the door, looking worn and ill. "Ahren!" Her German words make her sound angry, but I think she is only tired. Ahren sighs and pulls the stick from the snowman, leaving it armless and faceless, and hurries into the house. The door shuts.

It only takes a moment for me to set the basket down near the door and step back, but the door opens before I can run away. Ahren nearly stumbles over the basket, and I grab it as it falls from the step and dumps the dolls.

He stars at it and at me. I look away, thinking of dropping the basket and running.

Neither of us can say anything, and it isn't until his mother calls that he left the door opened, that he shuts it.

"I . . ." my mouth had gone dry, and I suddenly wondered why in the world I came. I thrust the basket toward him. "I … brought your sisters…"

He stares at me, as though I am offering a chest full of gold and he doesn't know what to do with it. Wordlessly, he opens the door and clumsily ushers me in.

Mary doesn't give me time to feel awkward. She stares at Sarah. "Is that . . . are those for us?"

I nod and extend the doll. The entire house is quiet, except for the baby, who squeals. Mary steps slowly up and takes the doll, brushing the white lace with her fingers. "She's..." Her word is lost in the breath that leaves her, and I smile, glad that I came. The next moment I am swarmed by eager hands all reaching up for a doll. I pass them out, unsure of who gets whom, but it doesn't really matter. The little girls squeal, Lotchen looks a bit uneasy, and Ahren smiles just a little. Mary sinks down, staring at the doll and stroking her face. Not all of the children are so gentle with theirs, and I turn away as one of the little ones clutches happily onto Anne, until I think she will tear the doll's head off.

"I – have to go," I stutter. Mary's face is worth all of the dolls together, but I have no desire to watch any of them be torn up by eagerness. "I must go home."

Ahren kicks the door back open for me, and I step toward onto the porch. Arms encircled my legs, and I glance down where the five-year-old smiles up at me. I stroked her hair. She hugs Anne and bites her lip, swaying her body eagerly back and forth.

Ahren steps outside and I follow. He seemed to take an extra long time shutting the door, for the children is gone, and the uneasiness has returned. I whisper 'goodbye' and hurry away.

A light snow has already filled my tracks, but I try to step in them on the way back. I am not very far from the Hummels, when I hear my name.

Ahren had followed me. His steps slow as he comes near, and he glances all around me and down at the faded ribbon in his hand.

He looks absolutely terrified for a moment, before he forced himself to make eye contact, his pupils flickering as if they're unaccustomed to the act. "This is for you." His accent comes out so heavily, for a moment, I think that he is speaking German. Faded and frayed, a blue ribbon dangles between us.

I reach for the gift. "Thank you."

My hand brushes his and my cheeks burn. He swallows and his mouth opens, but he says nothing. Nodding, he turns to hurry away, sticking his hands into his pockets to keep them warm.

I hold the ribbon, wondering where he had gotten it, and why he has given it to me. My mind spins. This is silly. I shouldn't feel so flustered. Jo always writes about heroines, whose heart pound and swoon at a prince's eyes. But they were in love. I am just shy. Still, I stroke the ribbon and slip it into my pocket, thinking that Ahren has very pretty blue eyes. Somewhere I hope that perhaps, perhaps I can see him again and we can be friends - like Jo is with Laurie.


	4. Silly About Boys

Chapter Four

Silly about Boys

_A more unequal Match can hardly be:_

_Christian must fight an Angel; but you see_

_The Valiant Man, by handling Sword and Shield,_

_Doth make him, tho'a Dragon, quit the field._

"Oh, Beth!" Amy's voice breaks into my reading, and I look up from _Pilgrim's Progress_. Amy's face is plastered against the window, and I wonder how she stands the cold. "When do you think they'll be home?"

"Not until late tonight," I answer. You may as well find something to do. Do you want me to read to you?"

"No" Amy collapses in her seat by the window, glaring at her hands in her lap. "I wish I could go. I wouldn't have spoiled my dress like Joe."

I bite my lip, trying to find a way to defend Joe's patch on the back of her dress. I did the best I could hide the burn, but this will be the third dress the Jo has scorched by standing too close to the fire. I can't argue in her favor, so I say nothing as he turned back to my book where Christian fights Apollyon because his pride going into the Valley of Humiliation has given the Dragon grounds to attack him.

Amy kicks the chair leg. "Joe needs to learn to pay more attention. Scorching her dress is bad enough, but there is simply no excuse to burn poor Meg's hair off."

"That was an accident, Amy," I say. "It turned out all right in the end. You were so clever to think about putting a bow to cover it."

She smiles at the praise, but it doesn't take away her fidgeting mood. "Well, I'm glad that you weren't invited so you could stay home and keep me company. It would be dreadful if all three of you were gone."

My heart picks up a bit. "I wouldn't have gone anyway."

"Even with Laurie?" She swivels to face me. "He's always so nice to you. He hardly notices me."

"Laurie is a nice boy," I agree. "But I shouldn't like to go party with anyone tonight."

_Or any other night. _

I still remember how sick I felt at school when I went as a child, and how everyone stared at me, and I couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Well, I should." Amy pouts. "I should like to go to a party every night. Laurie looked handsome tonight, didn't he?"

I don't know how to respond. Of course, he did look handsome. He always looks nice, and tonight looked very becoming in his black suit the, but somehow it doesn't seem right speculate about him. I have become much more used to him and no longer feel scared when he lopes through our door. He has become a piece of furniture — at least that's what Hannah says — for he is always over and has nearly become a permanent fixture in our house. Joe has declared him the "brother that we never had." He eagerly accepted the title.

He was the one who talk Joe into going to the Gardeners party, despite her dress and stained gloves.

Amy pulls out her sketching and I turn back to my book, sliding Ahren's ribbon away from the words its blocking. I've been using it for a bookmark, and sometimes I imagine Christian looks very much like Ahren. I wonder if the Hummels had anything to eat tonight, and if the tray stayed in the window to block out the cold. I've been wondering if Marmie I can't find some clothing for them, especially Ahren, since he is the one that goes outside so often.

"I hate noses!" Amy throws down her pencil.

"Why?"

She sighs. "Well, I hate mine, of course, and now I can't get this one right either." She holds up the paper. "See? Does this look like Laurie to you?"

Actually, it looks very much like Laurie, and I tell her so, but she doesn't believe me. She says I'm just being nice, and that Jo would tell her the truth. Somehow, I think Jo would be more likely to tease her about drawing Laurie, but I say nothing about that.

"Marmee!"

The door flies open and Amy jumps up. "You're back already!"

Jo looks flustered, excited and slightly amused. "Marmee, come quickly. Meg's twisted her foot!"

Laurie works his rather tall figure through the door, carrying a blushing Meg like a china doll. He sets her into a chair and steps back with a flourishing bow.

"There you are. Safe and sound."

"Meg!" Marmie bustles into the room, calm as always. "What happened?"

"I was dancing and I twisted it." Meg grimaces.

Marmie will need water. I hurry into the kitchen and work the pump, watching the water spill into the bowl.

"Thank you for bringing her home, Laurie." Marmie's voice carries through the door.

"Not at all."

"I'm sorry you had to miss your party," Meg says.

"I was ready to come home anyway," Laurie says, as I carry the water back into the room. He spies me balancing the bowl and takes it from me. "Hello, Miss Beth. You're looking lovely tonight."

Needles prick my face as I flush, kneeling next to Meg's foot where I can hide my cheeks with my hair.

"Good night, Mrs. March," Laurie says. "Meg. Jo."

The door shut and Amy sinks down in bliss. "Oh, Meg. He carried you in like a princess."

Meg swallows. "He needn't have. I told him I could walk but he wouldn't let me."

"Well, he certainly did a good deed by putting snow on this ankle," Marmee says.

"He put snow on your ankle?" Amy asks, as I bath Meg's injury.

"Amy, it's time for you to go to bed." Marmie says, taking the rag from me.

"With his hands?" Amy ignores her.

"Oh, Amy, don't be so swoony," Jo scolds.

"Softly, Jo," Marmee warns, taking the rag from me. "But Amy, she is right. I won't have my girls being silly about boys."

I swallow.

"To bed." Marmee insists, "Beth, you go on too."

"Yes, Marmee," I speak faster than normal, moving to pick up my book.

Amy pouts on the way up the stairs. "I wish something like that would happen to me."

My heart pounds hard as I set my book down on my nightstand, eyeing the accusing ribbon. I bite my lip, blinking back tears as I fumble with the buttons on my dress.

Marmie's comment rings in my ear as strongly as if she had scolded me. I want to run down and tell her about this new burden on my heart, but I can't explain these feelings because I don't understand them myself. All I knew was that I worry so much about the Hummel's – especially Ahren.

Jo's feet sound on the stair, and I climb in bed and quickly turn to the wall.

"I'm sorry Meg got hurt." Jo giggles as she shuts the door, "But it was so much fun. Laurie and I stayed away from the main room and danced. He taught me a German dance, and it was so lively."

"I'm glad," I say, trying to make my voice sound light.

She slips into the bed beside me, stroking my hair back. "Are you all right?"

I nod, trying not to choke.

"Beth." Her voice softens. "What is it? Are you worried about Meg?"

I shook my head.

"Have you been fighting with Amy?"

"No," I say. "I'm fine, Jo."

She does not believe me, and I shiver a little.

"Are you cold?" Jo asks, "I am. I'll get another blanket."

She rolls off the bed and leaves me wiping away tears.

"Jo." I ask, as she throws the blanket over the bed to float down on top of me. "Do you think the Hummel's are cold tonight?"

I could feel her melt behind me, before she crawls into the bed, pulling me close. "Is that what this is about?"

I say nothing, trying to keep the pressure in my chest from welling up.

"Maybe they are, a little," she says. "But there's so many of them. I bet all of those little girls are snuggled up together in that bed and are warm enough with each other."

I swallow, not terribly convinced.

"Tomorrow. You and I will go over and see if we can help them anymore. There. Will that make you feel better?"

It doesn't. I think of Ahren, and Marmee's comment and shake my head. "I don't think that I can go back, Jo."

"Poor Beth." Jo kisses me on the cheek. "I suppose it's harder for you than the rest of us. We're all heartless, and you have so much more than most people."

I catch my breath before I began to cry, and Jo hugs me. I turn toward her, pushing my hands into my eyes, but with Jo there, there's no chance to stop the tears.

"Bethy." She smiles sadly at me. "Have you been thinking of them ever since Christmas? That was over a week ago. Did something happen to remind you?"

I shake my head. "It just doesn't seem right that we have so much and they have nothing."

"They've made it through the winter before," she says. "I'm sure that they'll be fine. We'll help them."

I nod, but the pain stays in my heart. It's not the little girls cuddled together that I'm thinking about. It's the boy alone on the pallet near the wall.

Marmie's right. I think about Ahren too often. I'm being silly. But I can't help it. Whenever I became cold, I think of how much colder he must be. And hungry. And lonely. But how can I explain to them? How can I stop thinking about Ahren? If he was Laurie next door, living in luxury with everything he needed, I could. But he's not. And he never will be.

I snuggle next to Jo and pull in a breath. Even if I try my hardest, as long as he's cold, hungry, pale and thin, I don't think that I'll ever stop worrying about the boy whose ribbon marks the place where Christian fights Apollyan.


	5. Ice and Dogs

Chapter Five

Meg sits in the chair, moaning over the ache and fretting because she is supposed to resume tutoring the Moffet children. Jo tells her that she may as well enjoy it, because Meg can stay home and read Ivanhoe while she and Amy must brave to cold to go to school and work.

Amy's in a terrible mood saying that her teachers were strict and it's drizzling miserably outside. I try to keep everyone cheerful and help as best as I can, but before the morning is over, my head aches so terribly that I have to lay down on the couch. I don't lay for long, however, for my kitten jumps for the tenth time onto Meg and she screams for me to get them before she drowns them. I jump to my feet and gather them up, as Marmee begs us to be quiet so she could finish writing her letter to Father.

Jo kisses Marmee on the head. "We're regular little monsters now, but we'll come back as saints. Come on, Amy! Get over your headache, Beth."

And with that she is gone, dragging Amy behind her. Meg closes her eyes and I can't help feeling sorry for her, for I know most of her temper comes from her injured ankle. I fetch her a warm cloth to wrap around her foot and help Hannah straighten up the kitchen. I don't let myself think about Ahren, except when I write a letter to Father, telling him about visiting the Hummels, and how sweet the children are, and how much I love holding the baby. I tell him about bringing the dolls to the girls and how excited Mary was about the doll.

Toward the afternoon it had clears up outside, and Hannah sends me to the town to gather some supplies from the store. I enjoy the short walks and she did not like to go outside in the snow. The snow is slush, water, dirt and ice all mixed in and it soon soaks through my shoes.

I think about Amy at school and hope that she does not have to go all day with her stockings wet. Before Father left, he taught me at home by myself, and now I try to continue on without his guidance.

I clutch my cloak tighter to my chest and hurry into the store. The bell on the door jingles as I step inside and kick the snow off of my boots.

"Why good morning, Miss Beth."

"Good morning," I smile back. Mr. Mordaunt was Father's close friend and I have known him for as long as I can remember. He used to give us peppermint sticks when we were little. He turns back to his costumer, and I slip between the shelves, picking up some more yarn for the knitting and eyeing the music sheets. There are new songs. I pick one up and read the staff, trying to memorize the notes so I can play a piece of it when I get home to see what it sounds like.

The door opens, but I do not pay very much attention until I hear Mr. Laruence's voice and nearly drop everything I hold in my hands. I back up between the bolts of cloth and the sugar bags, peeking out.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurence."

Mr. Mordaunt seems flustered. Mr. Laurence is most likely the wealthiest man that ventures into his store.

"Good morning." Mr. Laurence replies. He surveys the shelf and I duck, crouching on the floor in a way that would make Amy gasp, but I don't know what to do.

The bell on the door tinkles, but my eyes stay glued to the spot Mr. Laurence would step if he started coming toward me and straining my mind for what to do if he came. If only Jo were here.

"Gut morgen." The voice belongs to Mrs. Hummel.

"Morning Ma'am. Can I help you find something?"

The Hummel's must not come in very often if he doesn't know who she is.

"I . . ." Mrs. Hummel's voice is soft, despite her rough accent. "I am looking for work. I will work hard."

"I . . ." Mr. Mordaunt hesitates. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but I don't need any more help at the moment. Did you try at the seamstress's?"

"I work there too, taking in laundry and sewing, but I have ten children to care for, and there is not enough to do."

"Where is your husband?"

"He is working in the logging camps, sir." Her voice quivers. "I will do anything. I must feed my poor children."

"I wish that I could help you, Mrs…?" Mr. Mordaunt's voice is apologetic and poor Mrs. Hummel's shoulders slumps.

As she thanks him and turns toward the door, Mr. Laurence raises his cane and hooks one of the fish that hangs from the ceiling. "There, Ma'am. Take that home tonight to your children."

Mrs. Hummel clasps the fish to her chest as though it was Susan in my own arms. She laughs and cries at the same time, switching to German without seeming to realize it as she chats toward Mrs. Laurence.

My heart pounds. Mr. Laurence? Mr. Laurence whom we can hear yelling from our yard. Oh but, the look on Mrs. Hummel's face. And Ahren will eat tonight, at least if there's enough in that fish to feed everyone.

Mrs. Hummel hurries home to cook her fish for her children, and I stay crouched and confused until Mr. Laurence makes his own purchases and leaves the store.

Mr. Mordaunt leans forward over his counter. "You can come out now, Mrs. Bethy. Everyone is gone."

I blush, but there's no alternative. I'm sure I must be crimson as I creep out. I tremble so badly that Mr. Mordaunt helps me fill the basket.

But my heart begins to warm toward the old gentleman until I am chatting to Mr. Morduant, telling him about Mrs. Hummel and her children. He listens with interest and asks a few questions before saying he'd see what he can do to help the family.

I nearly skip on the way home, and I would if the road wasn't so slippery. Hannah's fuming, worried something happened to me. She only half-listens as I prattle about Mr. Laurence's kindness, and how the Hummels will have supper tonight, and that Mr. Mordaunt might help them somehow, and that I am so glad.

Meg teases that I had better stop for breath, before she smiles. "Well, I suppose that there is good in everyone, ever Mr. Laurence. We'll have to remember that in the future."

I chew my lip, still smiling as I kick by feet back and forth. "I'm just – so happy, Meg. We aren't really so poor after all. We have everything that we need and more."

"You're right. We do, Beth."

"I want to do something for Mr. Laurence, Meg," I say. "He's been so kind to us and now the Hummels. He must not be anything like I thought."

"Well, you know, Beth," Meg said casually. "We're all invited to their house whenever we like. Laurie mentioned you specifically, saying that you could play their piano."

I swallow. The piano? The grand piano that Laurie played? Oh, I ache to touch that piano but…

"I don't know, Meg. He may be a dear, sweet man, but I still don't know what I would do if I had to speak to him. And they would hear."

"Let them hear. You're playing is very good, Beth. Especially if you had a piano in tune with all of its keys. I think you would be surprised to hear how good you really are."

"I'll think about it." I say, though I know my mind has already been made up by my pounding heart.

Throughout the next week my thoughts fly back and forth between Mr. Laurence's beautiful piano and the Hummel family. I nearly drive myself to tears wondering if my dolls are still in once piece. When Ahren enters my thoughts, I try my hardest to push him away but he still comes back, and I feel quite guilty.

The day that Jo and Laurie slip away to ice skate, I finally have something else to think about. I suggest we go for a walk. She doesn't want to. I suggest we ask Hannah to help us bake something.

She tells me I am a little homemaker but she does not like droll things like that. Within five minutes of Jo's departure she snatches up her ice skates. "I don't care! I'm going anyway. They'll have to take me. Laurie won't leave me by myself, I know he won't."

"Jo won't like that." I warn softly, but the door cuts off my words.

I don't know what to do. I stand for several minutes, then decide that I better go. If Amy doesn't find them, I'll skate with her. I search for several minutes before I find my old skates from last year and desperately hope they still fit. I snatch up my cloak and set off down the path toward the stream.

I don't see Ahren until I round the bend and spy him in the woods. He looks like a startled deer, a load of twisted sticks in his arms.

"Ahren. What are you doing?"

"Getting wood." He says after a moment. "No one owns these woods, so I come here when we have none on our land." He glanced around. "There's – not much here either."

I glance over the woods. He's right, and he's quite a ways from his home.

"There's – there's more over there." I point toward the Laurence's land.

"That's – private land." He hesitates.

"That's Laurie's land. We know him. He won't mind. They're not using their sticks."

Still he hesitates. The sticks he's gathered won't last more than half an hour.

Amy will be fine. "Come on." I motion him. "I'll help you."

"Oh, you don't have to," he protests. "Girl's shouldn't have to – gather wood like this."

"Well, I'll keep you company," I continue. Perhaps because Ahren is even more shy than me, I feel – almost bold.

He falls into step beside me as we tramp through the heavy snow over toward the Laurence's land. When we pass our house, I run to fetch Jo's sled, telling him we can pile more wood onto it. He doesn't speak much at first. But I ask him how his sisters are, and if his mother has found work and soon we're chatting away. He tells me about Lotchen and Gretchen and everyone except for him.

"And…" he asks. "Your sisters? Tell me about them."

"Well, the oldest one is Meg."

"The pretty one?"

"Yes." I laugh, wondering if he thinks I'm pretty. "Meg works as a governess. She is very elegant and mature."

He smiles and I continue, "Jo is . . ."

"The bold one." He finished for me.

"Yes." I glance toward the trees. "I don't know how she is so brave. I don't really understand how any one is."

"Neither do I," he admits. "My Father is not afraid of anything. My Mother is afraid of everything. I'm- not afraid. But I never know what I should say."

"Neither do I." I giggle. "I was terrified when we first came to your house."

"I was terrified when you came to my house. I did not know anyone was there, and I kicked open the door. The wind slammed it, and then you were there on the floor and – I thought I had killed you."

I laugh. "No. I was only scared I would drop little Gretchen."

"Then your sister, Jo - she talked to me and . . ." He shrugs. "I did not know what to say. So I was rude and said nothing."

"You weren't rude," I reply. "You were half frozen. But I see you have a new jacket now."

"Yes." He nods. "From the grocer. He says it was extra. I don't really believe him though. I feel bad taking it."

"Well, he would not have given it to you if he didn't want to." I replied. "Some people are made happy when they are allowed to give."

"Like you?" He stole a glance toward me.

"Yes."

"My sisters play with the dolls – all the time. They take my blanket to put them to bed. Every night I have to unwrap so many dolls from my blanket."

I laugh - actually laugh loud, and he laughs too.

"They say that I am cruel." He shake his head. "But I don't want to share my blanket with dolls."

"I should have sent some doll blankets," I say. "I only have one doll left, and she has more than she knows what to do with."

"Then she know?" Ahren laughs. "How funny, you speak as though they are real."

"But they are!" I reply, before I think about it.

Ahren's eyebrow perks along with his mouth as he cocks his head sideways at me.

"I mean." I blush. "It seems like they are. I've had them ever since I was young. So they seem real. Didn't you ever have toys like that?"

Ahren laughs again, dumping a second load of wood on the wagon. "When I was little, I had a wooden horse. I played with it all of the time. But one winter – we were snowed in. We used all our wood. Then the kitchen chairs and table. Then Da said I must use my horse to keep the house warm. I thought it was real and I cried. Not much. Only a little. I wanted to cry more. But then I understood that it was a block of wood. Nothing more." He pushed the sticks down to make more room.

I had a terrible image of burning my dolls.

"I'm sorry, Ahren. That is sad."

"No." He shakes his head. "I can make another. I just don't see any reason to, anymore."

I kneel down and help him gather sticks. His new coat looks nice on him and his hair is flat, like he had tried to comb it with his fingers. His clothes are worn, but still neat. He's trying. His new coat makes his other clothes look even more ragged than before. I wonder what he would look like in nice clothes.

He stands back as I put my load onto the sled.

"I think I'll have to take it back now," he says. "If we put more on, they'll fall." He pulls it a foot and the pile begins to slump. I catch the bundle. "Here. I'll hold them on and you can pull."

"My house is a long way," he warns.

"I don't mind."

And I really don't. I'm not scared. Or shy. Or uncomfortable. I think that this must be how Jo feels with Laurie and it excites me.

A small smile flitters across his face and is gone. "I'll pull you on the way back if you want."

We start across the land, chatting as though we're brother and sister – at least how I always imagine a brother would be like. Ahren's breathing is a little harder when we reach his house, and I wonder about it because the sled was not heavy and I'm not winded. Then again. Who knows when the last time he's eaten is?

I don't ride on the way back, choosing to walk along side Ahren, dragging the empty sled. I'm telling him about our play, when a dog barks.

Aren's head snaps to the side. "Bet! Run!" He shuffles into a gait, dragging the sled behind him, and I grab the rope. In the corner of my eye I see a large, black dog, speeding down the hill.

The dog gains on us, barking ferociously, and Ahren drops the sled, grabbing my hand instead. I don't think that I can run any faster but he drags me along, vaulting over a stone fence and turning to help me clamber over it. The dog snaps at my heels, and Aren yanks me right over the wall, tumbling backward into the snow.

We land in two feet of snow gasping for breath, safely out of the reach of the dog.

"I hate that dog!" Ahren chokes, between breaths.

I can't breathe well enough to respond. My heart feels like it might fall out into the snow and continue pounding there.

I think we both realize that we are still holding hands at the same time, because my hand flies off as he jumps up.

"Are you hurt?" He asks.

"No." I hope he thinks my face was red from the running, but then again, his face is also red.

"Good." He reaches down to help me up, and I brush snow off of my skirt. "I think I have a knack for hurting you."

I can't help but grin. "A tumble over the wall is preferable to being eaten by a dog."

"I did not realize – how close we were." Ahren explains. "He chases me – all the time. But I never was with someone else. Some day, he'll catch me. I don't know what I'll do."

I don't like that idea at all. The dog is vicious. Not just the kind that bark to pretend to be mean.

"Why don't you go home another way?"

"I try. But he roams, so I never know where he will be next. I wish he had been kinder to you. I did not know anything could be mean to Bet . . . Beth . . ." He stumbled over the "th" in my name, and I laugh.

"You can call me Bet. I don't mind."

Ahren doesn't respond. He's squinting into the distance and when he speaks, the heavy German accent is back. "Bet? Is dat – your sister?"

I glance behind, taking a step to catch my balance.

It's Jo.

In bloomers.

"Jo?" I call out to her, but my voice squeaks.

Ahren's rosy color is not from the cold.

"I'd – I'd better go home," he says. "You can join your – sister and . . ."

We part ways, and I rush through the snow until my shoes are numb.

"Jo!" I call, but she is already gone. She must be running too. In her underclothes.

By the time I reach the house, I have no breath left and my nose is running terribly. I burst into the house and smack into Laurie.

"Laurie!"

Laurie grabs my shoulders to steady me. "She's fine," he says quickly. "Amy's fine."

"Amy?" I ask.

"She fell through the ice, but . . ."

I can't listen to the rest. Pulling away, I race upstairs. Amy's tucked in the bed, looking quite content, although a little frightened. Meg's face was quite stern.

Jo sits in a state of shock, still in her bloomers.

I rush to her. "What happened?"

Jo gives no response, and I grab her hands.

"Jo?"

"Amy fell through the ice," Meg explains. "Jo used her skirt for a blanket. Laurie pulled her out."

I pull Jo toward our room. "Jo, change into dry clothes. You'll get sick."

"I nearly killed her," Jo mumbles.

"She's all right," I answered.

I won't wonder what's going on in Ahren's head at this moment.

I coax Jo into some fresh clothes and within an hour after sitting with Amy, she starts to believe that she was all right. Amy takes advantage of the situation and keeps us trotting for tea and treats until Marmee tells her that it is enough.

We stay snuggled and cozy in Amy's room after Meg goes to Laurie's house to thank him again. With all the rush I forget about my own misadventure until I go to gather more wood for the fire and spy the sled near our house.

Ahren was terribly brave to go back for it, and I hope that the dog didn't chased him again. I wish that he had stopped by, but supposed he must have been scared off by a house full of women who ran the streets in their undergarments. It makes me blush all over again.

Jo doesn't blush though, when I tell her, as we snuggle in bed that night. At first I'm shy about talking about Ahren, but after I tell her of our chance meeting and the dog, she grins. Looking back at it, it is rather funny – except being chased. I don't tell her that he grabbed my hand or that we kept holding hands even after we stopped running. I do tell her of his face when he saw her racing through, and she laughs so heartily that I'm afraid Marmee will come running.

Suddenly the situation strikes me, and I start giggling too. "If we had been by a hill, we could have just gotten onto the sled and ridden down it."

She laughs harder. "I love you, Beth."

"I love you too, Jo." My smile fades.

There are more feelings that I can't put my finger on. The dog was frightening and I hope never to see it again but . . . I almost enjoyed the adventure with Ahren.

Maybe it's wicked to think about him so much.

If so, I must be more wicked than I thought, because all I can think about is how much I wish I could see him again. And how warm his hand were.

I blush and push my face into my pillow.

No. No I don't think that.

But . . . I had hardly noticed holding his hand. Because we were running? Or because it had felt – natural?

Whichever reason, I shouldn't see him again. It's not good for me.

But . . . I want to.

A little.


	6. The Plot

Chapter Five

The Plot

Despite Jo sacrificing her petticoat, Amy takes cold, and is really truly miserable. I spend the day trotting up and down the stairs until my legs ache with fatigue, and Marmee tells me to rest. It's hard to rest when I know my little sister is in such pain. Even before I sit, however, Jo is hovering in the doorway, a perfect picture of distress.

"Why, Jo, what's the matter?" I move toward her eye she reaches for her coat.

"Laurie is ill. I'd run right over there, but I have to go to Aunt March's." Her eyes snapped. "I just can't stand the thought of reading to a finicky old lady, while Laurie is suffering because he went in after Amy yesterday."

"Is he very ill?" I ask, trying to picture Laurie sick at all.

"I saw the doctor leave, and he said Laurie shouldn't be up and about for a few days. It's going to be hard for him to be all cooped up like that. Hannah made him some soup. Do you think you could take it over?"

My heart pounds as the room spins, but it's only Laurie. "I – I suppose I could."

Jo's smile is big and bright as she hugs me. "You're a brick. I'll come over as soon as I can. Do chat with him and try to cheer him up before you leave."

I forget that people have servants. When the maid answers the door, I stutter out that I brought something for Laurie. She calls me "Miss" and leads me into the parlor, telling me to please wait and make myself at home. If I were home I wouldn't be having such trouble breathing. I set the soup on the table, biting my lip as I'm drawn to the beautiful piano in the corner of the room. The keys are ivory, the wood lustrous. I've heard the sound of it through our window when Laurie plays. I stroke a key, feeling it cool and smooth, then glanced toward the door. I shouldn't be touching it. But Laurie did say I was welcome to play anytime I wanted.

I caressed the keys, creating a soft melody that only I can hear. I've often played it on our piano at home, but I've never heard it on a piano that was tuned. It's beautiful, and it makes me cry. I settle myself onto the bench, moving into a harder piece, wondering how many I can actually play before Laurie comes down.

I jolt as Laurie leans against the doorframe behind me. His stance is a bit casual for a sick person, but his throat is raw as he speaks. "That's very good. Jo always said you were good. Please keep playing."

He shuffled the couch to sit down, and my mouth goes dry. I don't want to play, but he is ill, and he asked me to. I chew my lip until it nearly draws blood, feeling my finger shake on the keys. It's the same song I played earlier, but I make a terrible mess of it, and at the end I turned to him, hoping to divert his attention.

"The soup is from Jo," I say. "She sent it over, and she wanted to come herself, but she had to go to Aunt March's house."

As soon as I speak, I see I don't need to, for Laurie has already helped himself to the dish. At the mention of Jo's name, he looks up quickly. "Did Jo make it?"

"No." I laugh. "Jo doesn't cook. Hannah made it."

"Oh, good." He looks relieved.

It's awfully wicked of me, but I can't help laughing. I want to defend Jo's cooking, of course, but — well, honestly, it's rather hard to defend. None of us have very much talent in the kitchen. I help Hannah with the meals sometimes, but mostly she likes us out of the way.

Before I can come up with any possible way to come to her defense, Laurie's shoulders shake with heavy laughter, that almost covers Jo's laughter coming from behind. She stands in the doorway with sparkling eyes. "My sweet Bethy. Not even God himself could've defended me on that one."

Laurie falls back onto the couch, nearly choking on his laughter, and suddenly he doesn't seem ill at all.

"Jo, I thought you were at Aunt March's."

Jo grinned. "No. I lied. Actually, Laurie and I plotted everything out. He's not really sick. We just couldn't think of a better way to get you over here, and we knew that once you were left alone with piano you decide to try it."

They had been listening the entire time? I've rarely felt so horrified in my entire life. But I could never be angry with Jo, and Laurie has such an adorable look on his face, I can't be upset with him either. Still, my mouth hangs until Laurie plops down beside me on the bench.

"Come along, Beth. You're not upset because we like to hear you play are you? We just didn't want to make you nervous. And I can't keep this piano in tune all by myself, and Jo's playing makes her cooking look splendid."

It is a nice house. And a beautiful piano. And Laurie is sitting awfully close to me.

But something snatches its attention away, and he moves toward the window. "Well, my, my, my."

"What?" Jo asks.

"It's my tutor."

"So?"

"He's by the garden gate."

"Have you done your school lessons?"

"Doesn't matter today. He's far more interested in Meg."

Jo rushes to the window. "What?"

Laurie grins. "What is this I sense?" He rubbed his fingers together in glee. "A bit of – romance — in the air?"

My eyebrows shoot up as quickly as Jo's go down.

"Meg?" I ask.

"Aye."

"And – Mr. Brooke?"

"Aye." I didn't think that Laurie's eyes to shine anymore, but they do. "Ideal, isn't it? The March and Lawrence households joining nations."

"No!" Jo snaps, startling both of us. "Meg is too young to think anything of the sort!"

"John is nice." I offer, joining her to look at the pair by the fence. "They are only talking. You're talking to Laurie. They might just be talking about the weather."

"Might be," Laurie agrees.

Jo fumes, then wags her finger under Laurie's nose. They hinted teasing her voice doesn't cover her real mood. "You tell your tutor to stay away from my sister."

Laurie and I exchange a surprised look, as Jo's strides out the door, plows through the space between the pair to take Meg's hand and drags her into our house. John's sways on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets, before he turns and comes into the house.

"Well," Laurie says. "That didn't go well."

"She will be all right." I step back. "Thank you for letting me play your piano. And I'm glad you're not really sick."

"I trust you'll play again," Laurie answers. "Don't worry your pretty little head about Jo. Between my games, and your mothering, she'll be fine in no time."

But things are not fine at home. Jo scolds. Meg denies any guilt. Marmee pacifies. Amy laments that she missed all the fun at Laurie's. I try to explain that we didn't intend to go for a visit, but the poor child is running fever, so I end up playing paper dolls with her.

Laurie comes by with a making-up bribe, and whisks Jo and Meg away to the theater. I feel a little jealous that he succeeded where even I have failed, as Jo brightens and runs for coat. He winks at me on the way out, saying that he'll bring her back right as rain.

Rain doesn't seem to be an altogether good thing, and I turn to find Amy sitting with her arms folded, looking like a thunder cloud. "Now they're going to the theater without me."

"Perhaps we can go with Hannah when you're feeling better."

"I don't want to go with Hannah," her voice cracks. "I want to go with Laurie!"

She cries, and I do my best to soothe her, though I'm nearly ready to cry myself. It's been a long day, and it's always distressing when people are out of sorts. Amy falls asleep, and I slip quietly out the door, only to run into Marmee in the hall.

She kisses my head. "I'm going back to the Hummel family. I'm worried about the two little girls, and I'd like to check and make sure they have enough food and coal. Would you like to come along?"

My heart leaps, though I'm not sure if it's excitement or anxiety. We put on our shawls and as we walk toward the house, I ask mother about Meg and John. She says just to wait and see what happens.

The silver tray is missing from the window, replaced with a few rags. Ahren isn't at home, and I feel a bit disappointed, but as mother is chatting with Ms. Hummel, I pick up baby Gretchen. She has blue eyes, and fine golden curls like a little angel – a fretting little angel - and Lotchen says she's not been feeling well. I wonder if she's hungry or cold, and wrap my shawl tightly around her. It seems have found a permanent home here.

Mary is showing me what good care she's taken of her dolly, who was hardly recognizable anymore, when Ahren kicks open the door, loaded under sticks from who knows how far away. He settles the next to the fireplace, turning to catch Mary who jumps into his arms, and sending a fleeting but warm smile in my direction. I bury my face into the baby's hair so no one will see my cheeks have heated.

Oh, what's the matter with me? Why am I feeling this way? I don't even know what this could be called. Laurie would probably say it's infatuation. Jo would call it foolishness. Marmee might say friendship. All I know is that I care about him — and I worry when he is cold, or hungry, or frightened. If the Hummels had another boy, I would probably worry about him as well.

Perhaps.

Gretchen must sense my distress, for she begins to wail again.

"Ahren." Mrs. Hummel speaks in German, motioning toward us.

"She's crying?" Ahren speaks in English, and I think perhaps it's really meant for me to hear. He takes the squirming bundle from me. "And why would she be doing that?" He swings the child lightly in the air, turning a circle and making a funny noise until Gretchen begins to laugh. "Silly girl."

"Silly boy!" Mary calls, running to cling to his shirt, pulling against him.

Ahren's eyes sparkle as he hands Gretchen back to me, then turns to scoop up Mary. "Don't rip my shirt! I'll twirl you until you're sick!"

Mary is far from sick, and she screams "faster!" as Ahren spins her, until they both tumble onto the floor. Before he can get up, four or five other children pile on top of them. They move so quickly that I can't tell them apart, or even how many there actually are in that little heap of arms and legs.

For moment even Marmee and Ms. Hummel laugh. I wonder if Marmee likes Ahren.

I do - especially when he's rolling on the floor covered with children.

And then I know I can't deny it any more. Whether or not I should - I like Ahren Hummel.


End file.
